None of us will ever be living in a universe where Community doesn't exist and it will continue to go on and on forever producing half-hours of TV that are, equally, awesome and awful and all of us on the Internet will continue to dance along the impossible x/y-axis of Dan Harmon is a genius and Dan Harmon is a dick. But let's imagine a different timeline. Let's imagine that, instead of bringing back Community for its sixth season, Yahoo(!(?)) saved one of these five shows, all recently ingloriously canceled, instead.

Bunheads

God, I miss Bunheads. I still sometimes forget that it's been canceled and then other times I forget that its particular, Sherman-Palladino sugary/saltiness ever aired—for 18 episodes! on ABC Family!—at all. Sutton Foster is a noun, adjective, and verb onto herself.

Enlisted

Why can't Parker Young find happiness? He keeps moving up and up from sitcoms that are sweet and kind and fiercely loved, and that are dopey and flawed in ways that exacerbate your fondness more than your irritation; and then you see him on TV and think, surely, he'll become a star. But it's 2014 and Parker Young is in something called Cuz-Bros.

Southland

If you watched the Southland finale when it aired live, you are probably not even reading this because you have died of heartbreak. Telling people to catch up on the series is an exercise in sadism—knowing the ledge, that fifth season finale oh my, that they're walking toward. Loving Southland is even worse, which is kind of fucked because with all of its beautiful white men and its absolutely majestic Regina King and its dedication to stuffing huge emotions into normal-sized people, loving Southland is very, very easy.

The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson

Craig Ferguson is the greatest living conversationalist in America. Craig Ferguson is, single-handedly, the best white man our White Man Cultural Industrial Complex has ever produced. Craig Ferguson is a national treasure. And America wooed him; somehow, we convinced him to stay. Watching him so late at night gave off sparks of joy that felt hallucinatory. At least, I think that's true! (CBS does not.)

Futurama

TV used to be produced like muffins and then it started also being made like beignets (by hand, one at a time, through a glass window so we could watch) and at some point in the last five or eight years, TV became a decision one made impulsively, like when you're trying to break a nicotine habit. That explains how Futurama could die and live and thrive and die again on two different networks and remain, simultaneously, the progenitor to the American animation renaissance, the movement's step-uncle, and its Buñuel.